Last Fantasy Hero
by peteynorth
Summary: A cat burglar breaks into Madigan Productions, a movie studio, and steals, among other things, a torn golden ticket belonging to the studio's owner, Danny Madigan, and decides that the best use of this piece of paper is as a bookmark for 'Game of Thrones'. Lots of bad language, so rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Kyle Renquist

Perfect evening. People in L.A. were so used to beauty, whether it was the top shelf ladies who emigrated here and were perpetually forced to remain in perfect shape and looking their absolute best due to the competitive environment of being in hot-chick Mecca, or the scenic perfection of the mountains touching the ocean, or the weather which while not quite as good as San Diego, was pretty close to ideal, or a myriad of other wonders; but the effeminate, self-absorbed, self-important shitstains living here would never think to look up, turn off their petty fucking lives for a moment, and just admire the clearly visible moon. Even some stars were starting to become visible at this point, an even greater tragedy when one realizes how few nights that you could see the stars clearly in L.A., but fuck 'em, narcissistic waiters waiting to be movie stars weren't worth worrying about. That went double for this Madigan asshole that was his current mark.

Daniel Madigan, born 1981, raised in one of the less-than-upscale sections of New York, and apparently one of those dickheads who figured he'd watched enough movies that he figured he knew how to make 'em better than the pros…and maybe he was the rare instance where he might have a point. Madigan Studios was on the small-midsized end and had produced some real winners, though these winners always seemed to fall into two buckets; action movies with likable characters who wind up with happy endings, or interesting but horrific asshole protagonists who get their bloody comeuppance at the end. With the former, they're typical Frank Capra style sugary goo with modern sensibilities, with the latter, good ol' brutal bloodfests where everyone's bad, and everyone dies horribly. Being in the same age demographic as Madigan, Kyle understood the appeal of the second; a newly-minted teenager catching 'The Usual Suspects' or various Tarantino flicks would grow up a cynical prick. Perhaps the one thing Kyle had in common with this East Coast import. But there was one key difference between the two men. Well, there were lots of differences, but one related to movies; Kyle had loved the Jack Slater films, and while Madigan claimed to love them as well, even referring to himself as Jack Slater's biggest fan, what he had done to end the series was unforgivable. This fucking New York assbag had made a few hits, made a fair bit of money, and bought the rights to the series. Probably got a good deal, Schwarzenegger was just finishing off his stint as Governor and decades past his prime, the Slater series was long done, yet Madigan spent every penny he had to get the rights to it, hire on a very reluctant Govanator, and even got the Billy Madison chick to reprise her role as the daughter, marrying her off to a character played by himself, friggin' egomaniac, and giving Slater the sappiest fucking ride off into the sunset happy ending ever. No introducing previously unknown relatives for sacrificial motivation, no major injuries, no destruction of any of Slater's property, just a bullshit reconciliation with his estranged ex-wife, a dream wedding of his daughter with a noticeably younger Dan Madigan…he didn't even change his fucking name, the character was named Dan Madigan…and a goddamned dream sequence where his murdered son is happily in heaven telling him he loves him and will see him again someday. Fucking bullshit fangirl nonsense! It had everything short of a predominantly female audience 'woooing' every ten seconds. Kyle had grown up with Slater, Jack Slater had been his hero, and Madigan sodomized him. Kyle was a thief by profession, but this target was more personal than financial. Frankly, Kyle wasn't expecting that significant of a payday, but it would feel good to stick it to this blond prick.

Madigan typically had two schedules for when he got home at night, either on time for an eight-o-clock dinner with his wife, or he worked until midnight. Kyle looked at his phone, noted the white 8:07 against the black background, and resigned himself to a long night. He reached for the phone and thumb-printed it to life, looking through his apps and opened one of the two he had installed just as he was leaving his house, probably the thousandth time he'd installed Kik to his phone, whereas the GPS spoofing app was a new discovery. No need to open the GPS spoof until he knew Becca was free. Logging on to Kik, he shot a message to the 23-year-old aspiring actress who, if what she said yesterday still held true, had the night off from the restaurant she worked at. As expected a response came back from Becca, the unsatisfied waitress, one inundated with gay-ass emojis, but the message was clear; game-on. With the next few hours accounted for, Kyle opened the GPS spoof app, zeroed into the alley he was parked in at that moment, and activated it. An unfortunate necessity that came about last year when his son had not been at a friend's house as Kyle and his wife were told he'd be, and in response to that situation Kyle's wife Moira had installed Life360 on all their phones so that they could track their son…and each other apparently. So, this spoof app, which billed itself as a way to mess with friends or cheat at Pokemon Go, but come on, really, come on, was now needed to let his wife believe he was really in the alley two blocks from Madigan Studios. Moira was aware of and completely fine with Kyle's illegal activities, but banging another woman, yeah, she wouldn't be fine with that.

As a precaution, Kyle opened his Life360 app to track himself and make sure he didn't move on the screen before pulling out and heading to Becca's shitty studio apartment four miles away. Sure enough, if Moira wanted to check up on him, she'd see his unmoving beacon down the road from the target that he'd made her aware of, and not pulling to a stop in front of a rundown factory converted to apartment dwelling where a girl fifteen years his junior was going to ride him for the next three hours. He just needed to make sure he uninstalled both apps when he returned to his stake-out spot later. There was no reason for a person with a working cell phone possessing texting capabilities to have Kik, unless they were married, in which case they did have a reason, and that reason was to communicate with the person you were cheating on your spouse with. And as for the GPS spoof app, yeah, come on.

Kyle trotted up to the door and pushed the button for Becca's apartment, such a ridiculous name, but tweaked 'unique' names like these were so common in Los Angeles that he barely even rolled his eyes anymore. And given that she was hot, well, a goofy name was easy to overlook. And she was hot, even by L.A. standards she was still an eight. Back home in Lisle...it was Lisle, right? Yeah, back home in Lisle, Illinois, she would have been the hottest girl in her high school, and probably that community college as well, a clear 9.5-10 by midwestern standards, but in the city of hot ass angels, she was bumped down to an eight, but still a solid eight, and Kyle, who was reasonably handsome and in shape, but nothing special, a solid eight was a fantastic way to spend three hours, even if it meant listening to her mindless bullshit in between sex sessions. The door buzzed and in he went, bounding up the stairs three at a time until he got to the third floor, marched down the hall and knocked on the door, which opened two seconds later and in he went.

Three hours later Kyle rolled to his side in Becca's double bed and looked up at her as she read lines from a script her agent had given her the day before. She was auditioning for it the next day, and he had agreed to listen, watch, and provide feedback, but instead of focusing on her he let his mind wander to the job ahead of him…and smile at the familiar ache on either side of the base of his penis that comes from multiple ejaculations occurring within a few hours of each other. Three times, by no means a record, or even uncommon when they have more than two hours to work with, but still a good night and another reminder of how that vasectomy was so worth the miserable few days that followed it. Becca yammered on, and then lowered the papers in her hand, looking to him expectantly. "That was fantastic!" Kyle replied with feigned enthusiasm. "I'm sure you'll get the part." That one was a flat out lie.

"Thanks Babe!" Becca chirped as she jumped onto the bed next to him, her light brown hair falling over her face as her tight body wrapped in panties and a sports bra bounced next to and against him, the crumpled papers still in her hands. He felt a slightly painful throb coming from his reluctant yet interested cock and figured he might be up for one more round, though only if Becca wanted and was willing to inflate things down there with her mouth and tongue. But she seemed to be focused on jabbering, and he was drained to the point of being happy if it didn't happen again, so he just relaxed and let her drone on about whatever the fuck she wanted to drone on about. He envied his great grandsons, who would probably live in an age where realistic android women with mute and off switches would be readily available, but alas, Kyle Renquist was born too soon and was forced to listen to this gorgeous young thing tell him about how she would someday be a star. "This role would be perfect for me, it's a small one, just two lines in the episode, but it's pretty prominent and really could lead to my discovery."

"That's great. What does Doug think?" Doug was her agent, who Kyle had no doubt was fucking her too, but he really didn't care. No warts had appeared on hid dick yet, so Doug likely kept his fuck circle tight and clean.

"He's very supportive and encouraging!" Of course, he's fucking you. "He thinks I'll get it!"

"That's fantastic." Is that the word he used last time? Need to mix them up to make it seem like he's not phoning it in. "What time's the audition?"

"Ten, so early, but not too early." Doug smiled at the remark. Being a burglar, he really didn't have a right to look down on her for what she considered early, but his brother John, who was at work every day by seven, he'd have a choice insult or two. It was at this point that Kyle decided that round four was just not appealing enough for him to sit through any more conversation and reached to the table to get his phone and feign disappointment at seeing the time and determining that he needed to leave. As his hand covered his phone on the bedside table he knocked a book that had been resting next to it to the floor. "Hey, don't lose my place!" Becca barked out as the book bounced and landed on its spine, falling open. Fortunately, the bookmark, one meant for children with a looped yarn ring through a cut out, remained in place about a third of the way from the beginning. The young woman bounced off the bed, and stooped over to recover the book, closing it and giving him a faux-threatening look. "You're lucky."

Kyle looked at the thick paperback, one with a white cover, some gold disk think in the middle, and the title on the lower section "A Dance With Dragons". He noted the author's name at the top, George R. R. Martin, and realized what it was. "That's one of those Game of Thrones books. I thought you've read them all."

"It's A Song of Ice and Fire when talking about them as a collected whole, Game of Thrones is just the first book of the series." She corrected with fake sternness. "Cripes, when are you going to remember that?"

"Game of Thrones is a cool title; A Song of Ice and Fire is fucking gay." He replied. "HBO must agree with me, as the series, including the later books, all falls under the Thrones umbrella. Seven seasons down and no mention of any fucking song."

"You should read the books." Becca replied after a brief scowl.

"Yeah, you keep telling me, and I keep telling you that I just don't care enough about the story to put in the time." Kyle grumbled back. "Besides, have watched the show, which is just as good."

"No, it's not!" Becca snapped back. "The books are always better than the movies or shows!"

"Not 'Interview With a Vampire'." Kyle grinned. "Movie was better."

"I don't know, that's one I haven't read." The young woman, one apparently possessing boundless energy, replied as she twisted and crossed her small studio to a pile of books on an end table next to a shitty used futon. She returned carrying a blue paperback and tossed it to Kyle. "Here, it's yours, and I will be testing you on it whenever you come back." Kyle looked down at the book, unsurprised to see 'Game of Thrones' written across the lower cover. "And don't think having watched the first season of the show will prepare you for the questions I'll ask!"

"Yeah, yeah, there's details that are different." Kyle grumbled but smiled as he looked back up at her. "But you've already gone into most of the differences between the books and the series. Like I know the mom…Catelyn, she becomes a zombie, and you said the clues about Jon being King Arthur are actually in the book, whereas in the show they don't drop any clues until season six."

"Quit calling him King Arthur, he's not king Arthur!"

"He's totally King Arthur!" Kyle replied quickly with a grin. "Raised a lesser son by a nobleman, born to save the realm, and probably use a magic sword while doing it. Oh, and Arthur's last name was Pendragon. Jon Snow is totally King Arthur. You yourself keep pointing out how those books are just like our reality but tweaked."

"Whatever." Becca grumbled with a grin, knowing he was right.

"Let's see, in the books you say they have Neanderthals, just like us but they still exist, Valarian steel is just a stand-in for Damascus steel, only better and sharper, Westeros is basically just the Americas, but instead of Asians crossing a land mass to discover it twelve thousand years before it was the equivalent to Eurasians, let's see, what else?"

"OK, enough." The young woman playfully slapped Kyle's leg after leaping back onto the bed. "He created this world using influences from the real world. That doesn't make it less amazing. And besides, until you've read the books, you're not entitled to criticize them!"

Kyle shrugged as he finally got a chance to look at his phone's screen. "Fine, whatever." He displayed the mild look of surprise and disappointment as he noted the time. "Shit, later than I thought. Gotta go." He bounced off the bed and started dressing, but heard Becca clear her throat as he got his pants on and looked down into her expectant face. She was giving a smile, but a playfully disappointed look as well. Fucking sugar babies. Kyle smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black jewelry box and tossing it to her, eliciting a playful squeal from the young woman. "Here."

"Ohhhhh." Becca cooed as she looked upon the diamond earrings inside, a set that Kyle had boosted a couple weeks before and kept hidden from his wife. "These are gorgeous!"

"Then they'll compliment the wearer nicely." Kyle replied after sliding his shirt on, then leaned down, gave her a kiss, and made for the door.

"Wait!" Becca called out. Kyle turned in time to catch the blue object being flung at him. "Don't forget your homework!"

Kyle looked at the book in his hand, groaned internally, but displayed a weak smile to his girlfriend. "Right, thanks."

An hour later Kyle was finally watching the blond man walking out of the building with his name over the door toward his Model S, getting in, starting it up, or at least Kyle assumed he was starting it as the fucking car made little to no noise, and finally drive off, leaving the building vacant, or at least Kyle hoped. The burglar had been casing Madigan for many weeks now, and had already infiltrated his surprisingly small condo, finding a safe containing a few thousand dollars, his passport, other paperwork, and a torn golden ticket stub, with really nothing else. His contacts at the local banks had verified that Madigan did not have safety deposit boxes at any of their banks, leading Kyle to believe that the blond dickhead had a safe at the office that contained his valuables. By no means a foregone conclusion, and his 'bankers network' was in no way all-encompassing, but it was reasonable to assume he had some expensive swag in there and Kyle had broken into and out of much tougher places than this without breaking a sweat. He gathered his tools, slid his balaclava over his head, slit on his latex gloves, snagged the tool pouch off the passenger seat of his Elantra, and took off across the street and toward the building.

There were guards, but nowhere good enough to notice Kyle getting past him. There were cameras, but they were predictably placed with plenty of blind spots and easily avoidable. There was a security system, but Kyle had bypassed so much worse. He was in the building in a matter of minutes, and in Madigan's office a short while later. You'd think a writer and producer of movies would be original, but the safe was behind a large picture of Madigan and Schwarzenegger behind the desk. Schwarzenegger in full Jack Slater attire just pissed Kyle off all the more and made him even more resolute to empty that fucking safe. It was an SLS Gem Anti Lance, a very high end safe, but nothing he hadn't cracked before. An hour later the thick metal door was open, and Kyle was staring down into the safe mouth agape. Just like at home, a few grand in cash, lots of paperwork pertaining to the business, some photos…man this guy really had a hard-on for Arnold, and another torn golden ticket. Hell, maybe it was a prop from one of the Willy Wonka movies. "Fucking weirdo!" Kyle snarled as he grabbed the cash and put it in the black backpack he had brought in. He was about to turn and leave but looked back down at the ticket stub and motivated by nothing more than spite, grabbed it and shoved it into his jeans pocket. He likely wouldn't get an opportunity to hit the house, once this was discovered Madigan would be bumping up his security at both work and home significantly. Kyle stole out of the office, through the halls, out the building and was soon back in his car, starting it up. Just as the car started rolling forward he hit the brakes and threw it back into park, pulling out his phone and turning off and uninstalling Kik and the GPS spoof.

Moira

She heard the car pulling into the parking spot in the alley below around half past one; looks like Madigan hadn't made it home for dinner last evening. Moira Renquist rolled over and pretended to be asleep, hoping her husband was quiet enough coming in to allow their son to continue sleeping. Fortunately, he was fairly silent in his entrance to both the apartment and the bedroom, and quietly made his way into the bathroom. A few minutes to brush his teeth and empty his bladder, and he was sliding something on the bedside table, followed by his keys and the other contents of his jeans pockets before taking them off, then his shirt, and then sliding into bed. "Well?"

She heard him sigh in frustration. "Just short of eight grand cash, two Krugerrands, and some scrap of movie memorabilia, or, at least I think it is."

She stared through the blackness at the ceiling. "Are they at least the full-sized Krugerrands?"

"Yeah, one ounce, so, what, like twelve, thirteen hundred each?" Kyle verified and asked.

"Something like that." Moira replied. "Not what we were expecting."

"Nope."

"Similar to the house safe's contents." Moira muttered.

"Yeah, but much bigger, tougher safe, so I was really surprised by the lack of, well, much much more."

"What'd you put on the table?" Moira asked. "Hopefully nothing you pulled from the safe. We have the lockbox hidden like we do for a reason."

"The swag was put away properly. I just got a book to kill time, something completely unrelated to Madigan Productions." Kyle grumbled as he leaned over, kissed Moira and rolled back away from her. "Good night." He was sawing wood in minutes, it would be another hour before she fell asleep again.

She got up with the alarm, got ready for her job at the bank, woke up their son Kevin, and let Kyle sleep as she and Kevin had breakfast. As they discussed what they had planned for the day, Moira heard Kyle moving around in the bedroom a little. Kevin grabbed his backpack and lunch and kissed her on the cheek before heading out the door. Moira headed to the bedroom to say goodbye to her husband, and peered in to see him reading a book, probably the one he brought home a few hours ago. "Getting some reading in?"

Kyle looked up at her from over the top of the book with bloodshot eyes and smiled. "Figured it's the best way to fall back to sleep."

"Not a bad idea, and certainly not without precedent." Moira smiled back. "It wasn't what we were hoping for, but it certainly covers the bills between now and your next score."

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah, but really wanted to fleece this dude. He's the one that sodomized that last Slater flick."

"What? I thought the last one was sweet." Moira replied, then smiled and laughed at the disgusted look on her husband's face. "Enjoy your book."

Work was slow, the bank really wasn't busy, it rarely was. She was just happy that she'd been around long enough to become branch manager prior to the onset of ATM's replacing the majority of human tellers. There was still a lot that the machines couldn't do, her job was secure, but there was always that worry about being replaced. Kyle could pull in more than enough money doing what he does easily, but it didn't provide health benefits for the family, and if it were their only source of income, well, they would have to be very creative with their laundering of it to avoid the notice of the IRS or other powers that be. But for now, they were doing well. Evening came and time to close with it, and after locking up Moira stopped by her parent's home, into the basement, and looked in the save hidden behind the fake wall Kyle had installed years ago. She looked over his collection from the previous night, just as he'd described, though she didn't see anything that resembled movie memorabilia. Oh well, he probably just forgot to take it, he did seem very tired when he got home, was probably worn out from the stakeout prior to the robbery. She just hoped he wasn't so tired he got sloppy.

She got home to find Kevin doing his homework. All things considered, he was a good kid, good student, and aside from a few slip-ups here and there, a well-behaved young man. "Hey mom." He said calmly without looking up from the Advanced Algebra book.

"It was fine sweetie, how was school?" She asked as she plopped her purse and keys down on the kitchen counter.

"Fine, nothing monumental." The boy replied.

"Where's your father?" Moira asked, walking around him, kissing the top of his head as she made her way to the couch and dropping into it.

Kevin shrugged, again without looking up. "Don't know. Don't think he's here, haven't seen or heard anything from him since I got home."

"That's odd, his car is out back." She commented but pulled her cell phone out and dialed Kyle's number.

There was one ring, then, "Hey, you've reached Kyle Renquist. Can't take your call, so leave a message."

Moira hung up, a confused expression on her face, and then she got up and marched out of the room and into the master bedroom. Kyle's keys were on the table, as was his wallet. His shoes are in the middle of the floor, looking as though they'd been untouched since being removed last night. The bed was unmade, but it would have been far more unusual if it had been. On it was that blue book he had been reading earlier. Moira turned to walk back to the living area but jerked her head back as she though she saw some sort of sizzling wave pass over the book, but that had to be a mistake. She stared at the book for a few more seconds before turning back and walking away from the bedroom. "He couldn't have gone far, he doesn't even have his shoes."

Bran

They were on their way to execute a deserter of the Night's Watch, it was the first time he was being allowed to witness such a thing, but at seven years his lord father had determined him to be old enough, much to his mother's dismay. In all there were twenty men riding out from Winterfell to enact the King' Justice, a somber duty, but Bran could not help but feel a tad giddy at riding next to his older brothers. A quick ripple of light off to his left drew his attention, and upon twisting his head in that direction he noticed a disruption in the high grasses along the side of the path. "Robb, there's something over there!" The boy pointed toward the rustling.

"Wait here lads!" Jory called out as he directed his horse toward the disturbance, giving Bran's brothers Robb and Jon, both having seen fourteen name days, a stern glance to keep them from following him.

Before Jory's horse could get half way to the rustling grass, a man stood revealing himself to be the source of the commotion. "What the fuck?" The clearly agitated man growled loudly. Bran took in his appearance and was left bewildered. He was a mid-sized man with brown hair, closely cut, his face looked to have been shaved within the last day or two, merely a shadow where his beard would be, and seemed to be wearing what could only be called colorful smallclothes, a shirt with sleeves going midway down the bicep, colored a dark blue with odd designs and even words across the chest. To the far right of the man's chest was what appeared to be the image of a banner, one with red and white stripes and section of blue in the top left corner. Written in an odd script across the center of his chest was 'CAMACHO FOR PRESIDENT'. There was smaller print above that as well as more below it, but it was too small for Bran to read from the distance. Instead of trousers he was wearing, well, shortened trousers, trousers that seemed to be made up of a thin, black fabric that only went halfway down his thighs. He appeared to be naked beyond these two meager yet interesting pieces of garment, an extremely unlikely occurrence as while still summer, this far north the cold was far too potent to allow for such insufficient covering. The man looked up and seemed equally surprised to be looking upon them. "What…the…hell?"

"State your name!" Father called out, as he rode next to Jory. Father left the great sword Ice strapped to his back, but Jory drew his and held it preparedly, but not threateningly at his side.

The man stared at them all for several minutes more before raising his hands slightly, each containing on unusual object, and staring at the object in his left hand, what appeared to be a yellow or gold strip of parchment, though the light of the sun seemed to bounce off it almost as though it were liquid. The object in his right hand, which seemed less interesting to the man, was a black rectangular object that was nearly flat, and which reflected the light of the sun off its surface with even greater intensity than the golden parchment scrap. He continued to raise the yellow parchment closer to his face, scrutinizing it with great interest. "Is this some sort of…super acid tab?" He looked back at the men of Winterfell. "Gotta be."

"I said name yourself!" Father demanded.

"Who the fuck are you?" The strange man snapped back.

"Watch your words and tone, stranger!" Jory snarled back. "You are addressing Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North!"

The man's eyes grew wide at that, and a smile slowly spread across his face. "Definitely an acid tab." He peered intently at father, studying his face. "You don't look anything like Sean Bean."

"Sean Bean?" Father asked, agitated by the stranger's lack of respect, but apparently as thoroughly confused by the man as the rest of them were.

"Yeah, the actor that plays Ned Stark in Game of Thrones." The stranger replied in a manner that would suggest father should already know who this Sean Bean was. "The guy you're pretending to be." The man stepped forward, but apparently stepped on something that hurt his foot, which Bran was finally able to confirm was as naked as most of his legs. "Fuck, that hurt!"

"How did you get here without boots?" Jory asked, almost amused by the stranger's discomfort.

"Wasn't wearing any when the chemicals in whatever the fuck this is," he held up the golden scrap, "got absorbed into my skin!" He then seemed to realize something and tossed the scrap away from him. "Damn, smart Renquist, keep holding onto it, that won't make this trip any worse!" The yellow parchment fluttered to the ground.

"What is that scrap?" Father asked, keeping a look on both the man and the discarded strip resting on a bit of trampled grass.

"You know, that's an excellent question, pal." The man replied. His accent was, unusual. Bran had never heard its like, though to be fair, Bran had never traveled much beyond Winterfell, so different manners of talking were unknown to him.

Theon directed his horse out away from the main party, but only took a few steps toward Father and Jory. "Lord Stark, could he be the deserter we're to administer justice to? Or perhaps another deserter."

"He's no man of the Night's Watch." Father replied.

The man laughed. "Love pussy way too much for a life of celibacy."

Father glared at the man, but once again held his temper in check. "I will ask you one last time. What is your name?"

The man sighed, looked around, and then shrugged before replying. "Fine. My name is Kyle Renquist. I'm from L.A., a place that," he looked around, "is nothing like this. A place that is a lot warmer, where I wouldn't be freezing my ass off like I seem to be doing now." He looked back down at the scrap. "Man, that thing is fucking strong."

"I am unfamiliar with this L.A." Jory stated. "Given its apparent warmth and your foreign accent, I assume it's not in the North."

"Naw man, southern Cali." The stranger replied almost absently as he studied his empty left hand, focusing on the fingertips that had been pressing against the scrap a few moments before.

"Southern…what?" Jory asked.

"What is the purpose of the dragon glass in your hand?" Father called out, apparently more concerned with the black rectangle than the location of this Cali.

The man looked up at Father, had what seemed to be a moment of confusion, then seemed to realize what Father was asking of him. "Oh, it's an S9. iPhones are too glitchy," he then smiled conspiratorially at Father, "and when you watch as much porn as I do, you realize how necessary a back button is." He looked down at his phone, then back up at Father, a smile on his face. "Way to maintain the renaissance faire illusion, pointing out a cell phone."

"I've heard stories that dragon glass has magic powers." Jory muttered.

"Hand it here!" Father demanded.

The man gave Father an incredulous look. "Fuck you, this thing cost me over eight hundred bucks. Get your own gawddamned phone."

"Speak that way to my Lord again and I'll run you through!" Jory threatened loudly and pointed his sword at the stranger. "Now hand over the dragon glass!"

"Big man, hiding behind a fucking sword." The stranger growled at Jory but raised his hands unthreateningly and held out the dragon glass toward Father, slowly approaching him. "Don't expect to unlock it without my thumbprint."

Father took the offered object and looked down at it. "What is this…SAMSUNG?"

"Dude, you don't get to keep pretending it's the Dark Ages while asking questions about a cell phone." The man replied.

"Is this dude a pejorative term?" Jory asked threateningly.

"A pej…you mean an insult?" Jory nodded at the question. "No, it's, well, it's just a general term for man. In some circles it can even be flattering, but I'm just going with the general man connotation."

"Samsung!" Father growled.

"It's the company that makes the phone." The man shot back, clearly annoyed and slightly bewildered. "You know, phones, refrigerators, and TV's? Like, TV's that the characters you're pretending to be are from?"

"Kyle Renquist," Father growled lowly as he studied the black shiny object, "I have been far more patient than this situation warrants, but that patience is at an end. Answer my questions faster, more clearly, and with far more respect, otherwise you will be treated like a prisoner."

"Father," Robb called out, "I suggest we take him with us. He clearly has much to answer for, he may be a Wildling if not a Night's Watch deserter, or more likely a foreign agent."

"Either way," Jon added, "if we leave him here, he'll be dead by nightfall."

The stranger stared at Robb and Jon. "Wait, these are supposed to be your sons?" He noted Father's reluctant nod. "Come on, they're way too young to be Robb and Jon Snow," the man looked at Jon and winked, "or should I say Robb and His Grace?" Father froze, his eye stretched wide. "Seriously, Robb's hair was a lighter shade of brown, but this guy's is damn near red. And these characters are supposed to be months away from getting laid. I can't be the first to point out the pedophilia connotations here. And is that kid supposed to be Bran or Rickon? He's too young to be Br…" Unseen by the ranting stranger, Father had drawn Ice and smacked him in the head with the flat of the blade, dropping the stranger to the ground and rendering him unconscious.

"Jory," Father said as he got down off his horse, "bind this man and send five guards with him back to Winterfell. In fact, lead them back yourself. See that he's placed in a cell and allow no one to speak with him. In fact, keep him bound and gagged. See to it that no one can hear a word he has to say."

"Yes, my Lord." Jory replied as he too dismounted.

Father walked over and picked up the discarded piece of yellow scrap with his gloved hand, studying it for a moment before placing it in a pocket, along with the strange bit of dragon glass. "We will continue on and deal with the deserter."

Daniel Madigan

He was never one to pace, no matter how nervous he got. Even now, with his worst nightmare having come to pass, he could only sit in his office chair and stare at the computer screen in front of him. It had been about thirty-six hours since the theft, and his mind was whirling with all the possible damage that could be in the works that entire time.

"Danny?" His secretary Elaine's voice cut through the speaker.

Dan leaned forward and with a slightly shaky hand, pressed a button. "Yes Elaine?"

"Officer Burris is here to see you." The woman's voice came through, prompting a held breath to come bursting forth from Dan's mouth.

"Please send him in." Dan said as he stood from his chair and rounded his thick wooden desk, moving toward the door. A moment later a medium sized African American man in his mid-thirties opened the door and walked in. "Dave, so great to see you. Find anything yet?"

The officer, dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt, but no tie, walked forward and shook Dan's extended hand. "Hey Danny, good to see you, and…maybe. Got one that hit your criteria. Missing person, adult male, called in early this morning, wife called it in, no sign of violence or break-in of any kind, guy left his wallet, keys, even his shoes, so unlikely he went somewhere." Officer Burris held out a file folder for Dan to take. "Guy has one prior, B and E, and apparently pretty good at it. Only reason we ever caught him was because we collared someone he once did a job with and the guy ratted on everyone he ever worked with to lighten his sentence. Even then, we could only get six months for him, and we were lucky to get that. I met with the wife, and she was pretty nervous, like not just nervous for his safety, but I think she wanted our poking around kept to a minimum."

Dan opened the file folder, pulling out a couple printed out photographs and reading the details of the missing person. "Kyle Renquist, age thirty-seven, address 407 Kellison Way, apartment 3E," Dan looked at the one of the pictures, a picture of the bedroom, specifically an unmade bed with a book closed, but balanced face down on the bed, "Dave, this is going to seem like a weird question," he looked up and noted the shrug to indicate for him to continue, "but was there a bookmark in this book?"

Dave leaned forward and looked at the picture. "Uh, I don't remember seeing one. Doesn't look like there's one in this picture. Frankly, not the sort of thing we're trained to look for. Why do you think it matters?"

"No reason, just picking at nothing." Dan closed the file and smiled at the police officer. "Thanks Dave, I think I'm good. We still on for golf Sunday."

"If you're still OK with getting humiliated." Dave replied as he turned and headed toward the door. "You going to tell me what all this is about?"

"Research for a possible movie." Dan replied, looking down at the floor to avoid eye contact while lying to his friend. "Say hi to Barb for me."

"You do the same to Cindy." Dave replied as he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Dan reopened the file and studied the picture he had been scrutinizing earlier. He then made his way back around the desk, sat down and yanked up his phone, pulling a note pad and pen in front of him as he did. "Elaine, get me George R. R. Martin." As he waited he scribbled down the word 'septon' onto the note pad. "Hello George, this is Danny Madigan. A case of Kentucky bourbon for you if you can tell me all there is to know about your religion of the seven. As detailed as you can get."


	2. Chapter 2

Eddard

Jory was at attention at the door leading to the cells below, an odd site as the cells never contained prisoners and therefore never required a guard. But this was an unprecedented situation, and this stranger needed to be kept from everyone else. As it was, his one comment regarding Jon had unsettled Lord Stark to the point of being unable to sleep the night before. Jory dipped his head respectfully and offered a smile to his approaching lord. "Lord Stark, good to see you again. I trust everything went well."

"Aye, as well as could be." Ned replied, exhausted. He had come directly here upon returning to Winterfell, not even greeting Cat or Rickon and the girls. "Anything to report regarding the prisoner?"

"He's been bound and gagged since arriving. Meister Lewin attended to his head, stitched the top of his ear which was split open by the flat of your sword, and we put warm clothes on him, all prior to him waking." Jory reported. "I personally have fed him thrice since arriving yesterday, have unbound him to allow him to relieve himself every four waking hours, always warning him that should he say anything not related to his immediate needs I'll strike him with my sword, and have been sure to reapply his binds and gag."

"Good. And he's said nothing while eating?" Ned asked, trying hard to conceal his nervousness.

"No, just odd words whispered as a curse to me." Jory muttered. "I can tell you that Arya is most curious about the prisoner, she stopped by at least five times since yesterday to ask to see him."

"I trust you sent her away." Ned smiled, garnering a light chuckle from his captain of guards.

"Aye, though she's quite persistent." Jory chuckled, stepping aside to allow Lord Stark through. "Allow me to accompany you my lord."

"No, I will speak to him alone." Ned replied as he walked into the dimly lit hallway leading to the cells. "He is no threat to me." Ned said as he padded the dirk sheathed at his side.

"As you wish, my lord."

Ned walked down the row of cells to the one near the end housing the prisoner, a man now in traditional Northern garb, hands bound to the sides of the chair he was seated in, and a gag in the mouth a few inches below eyes shooting the Lord of Winterfell a murderous glare. Ned met his glare for a moment before pulling the keyring off a nail in the wall and opened the metal door and walking in to stand before the odd man. "I will remove your gag. If you call out, I will return it to your mouth and leave you as you were. If you call out anything regarding any member of my family, I'll plunge a knife into your heart." Ned drew close to the man, but maintained eye contact the entire time. "Nod if you agree to these terms."

The man, still bearing an angry stare, nodded after a moment, and Ned pulled the gag out of his mouth and let the looped fabric drop loosely around the man's neck. This Kyle Renquist breathed heavily as he continued to glare at his captor, finally growling out a quiet and indecipherable threat. "I'm going to sue you into destitution." He shook his head and coughed out a quiet, angry laugh. "You're so fucked. I'm not even litigious, I absolutely hate fags who sue over minor shit, but this, whatever the fuck this is, this warrants me fucking up your whole existence. This medieval times park of yours, fucking gone. Whatever savings you think you have, fucking gone. I'm assuming this is one of those interactive kidnapping adventure things, though for the life of me I can't think of anyone who'd shell out for this crap, and regardless, you dickheads have gone way too fucking far." The prisoner craned his head toward Ned's face. "You bashed my head with a sword, split my ear open, undoubtedly gave me a concussion, kept me bound to a fucking chair since yesterday…at least I think it's only been since yesterday; who the hell knows how long I was out for? I was gagged, and had to wait til nearly bursting before dickhead out there graciously let me piss and shit in that bucket there…leaving the gawddamned bucket in the room for me to enjoy all day long!" While not yelling, the prisoner was no longer whispering. "So yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure I have a case, and even in California you couldn't find twelve candyasses that wouldn't let me bend you over a barrel and paint your tonsils white!"

Ned leaned back, then turned and walked back to the front of the cell, then finally spun back around and fixed the prisoner with a glare. The man was easily the most insulting person Ned had ever had the displeasure of dealing with, and that was only taking into account the insults and threats he was able to understand. This odd foreigner clearly had no respect for Ned's position, name or title. In fact, he was most insistent that Ned was not who he was, and that was possibly the most infuriating part of all this. But this man also appeared completely sincere, and the objects he'd arrived with were wondrous mysteries, particularly the dragon glass that was not dragon glass but…a construct of different materials that glowed with words when the large slightly elevated part near the bottom was pressed down. Ned pulled the object out and showed it to the man. "Tell me what this is."

The man stared back at him with a look of disbelief on his face, but quickly rolled his eyes and groaned. "If I play along, will it end this farce quicker?"

"You answer my questions in a more timely manner, and we can discuss improving your lot more quickly." Ned replied with a growl of his own.

"Fine, m'lord, it's a magical relic made by fairies from lands and times long forgotten…" Kyle belted out in a dramatic voice displaying a goofy smile, but upon noting the angered glare from his captor, shrugged and started again in a serious manner. "Fine, it's a cellular telephone, or rather, it's a smart phone. Kind of a blend of phone, computer, camera and television, all in one small device, powered by a battery, which I hope you haven't drained." The prisoner replied.

"What does, no service mean?" Ned asked.

The eyes of this Kyle Renquist narrowed a bit. "It said that on the screen?"

"Yes, if the glass portion is the screen." Ned answered.

"Means that wherever we are, there's no cell service getting here. Or you've tinkered with it so that it can't pick up any signal in order to add to the illusion I'm somewhere without cell reception or wifi." The man replied once again using non-sensical words said in a manner that suggested the listener would have little difficulty following along. "But if you're really looking for me to play along, then maybe we should return to the story where it's friggin magic, but you've damaged the magic, so I can't make calls or access the internet anymore. But if you haven't killed the battery, I should still be able to show you the pictures and videos I've got saved on the device. Hell, maybe even give you a thrill and show you a couple vids of me and…uhm," the man suddenly grew nervous, "seriously dude, who hired you to do this? Man to man, I really need to know before I show you the good stuff."

Ned's face screwed up into a scowl. "I assure you, and for the final time, that I am exactly who I claim to be. I was not hired by anyone, and as uncomfortable as your conditions have been, your life continues because I took you. You would not have survived the night had my party not come across you. Dressed as you were, you'd have either been killed by a predator or frozen to death."

"Am I supposed to thank you for bashing my head, stealing my property, and kidnapping me?" The man growled, but looked away, let out a sigh as a look of defeat came over him and let his shoulders slump. "Fine, right, playing along." He looked back up at Ned. "O.K., Lord Stark, I apologize for my hostility, my lack of respect, and lack of gratitude. I've been very confused. If you are interested in my cellular device, I will be happy to demonstrate some of its features, but I will need my right hand freed to do so." Lord Stark hesitated, causing the man to groan. "I've had my hands tied to this chair for a hours, I'll be lucky to raise it above chest level. Plus, you're armed. Seriously, what could I do, especially if you leave my left hand bound to the chair? And even if I could miraculously get out of this cell, where would I go?"

Ned considered his argument. "All very reasonable words, but madmen rarely adhere to reason."

"You want to see what the phone can do, right?" The man replied. "You need my thumbprint."

"I can just take your thumb if that's the case." Ned taunted with a smile.

The stranger met the statement with a smile of his own. "Not if you're trying to stay in character. The honorable and just Ned Stark would never mutilate a man who's committed no crime, no matter how annoying he finds that man to be."

A firm look came over Ned. "That may be true, but you may pose a threat to my family."

"In which case you'd silence me, but you sure as hell wouldn't torture me." The man replied.

Ned looked at him and finally nodded, walking forward, leaning down and cutting the rope binding the man's right wrist to the leg of the chair. He then straightened up and extended this 'cell phone' to the man. "Do not make me regret indulging you."

"Here's hoping you didn't drain the damn thing." The man replied, pressing the same raised section on the base of the device and leaving his thumb there as it glowed to life as it had earlier for Ned. "Seventeen percent. Great." The image on the screen, as he called it, changed, showing many small colorful boxes and designs. The man tapped one of the small boxes, ran his thumb over the screen causing the images on it to shift, then tapped one small image that caused it to increase in size to fill the entire screen. Kyle Renquist then raised the device and turned it so that the screen faced Lord Stark, a screen showing the greatest, most realistic portrait Eddard Stark had ever seen. One absolutely perfect in every detail, one of the prisoner smiling with a woman and a boy roughly the same age as Robb and Jon. "This is me, my wife Moira and our son Kevin."

"That's astounding." Ned gasped. "The painter, he must be the greatest artist of all time."

The prisoner just rolled his eyes as he turned the device back around and wiped the screen a couple more times before finding something and pressing the screen a couple times, twisting the device back around for Ned to see, displaying something that sent the Lord of Winterfell staggering back at not just the images that were now moving as fluidly as real people move, but voices as well. The woman, Moira, was seated at a table, in front of her was a large brown…something, something round on a plate with ripple patterns all over it and possessing two small lit candles on it, one candle in the shape of a backward six, the other in the shape of a backward three, though Ned realized that from the woman's perspective, they would look like a correctly oriented thirty-six. "Happy birthday to you," the voices of two men, one recognizable as the prisoner's, sang out, "happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear…" Ned stumbled back as the prisoner's voice sang out Moira while the young man's voice sang out Mom, "happy birthday to you."

"Thanks guys!" The woman's voice came back, feigning playful annoyance.

"It's a milestone." Kyle's voice replied. "You've outlived Bruce Lee, Jim Morrison and Jesus, all by a pretty substantial margin at this point."

"That's Dad's way of calling you old, Mom." The boy's voice joked. "Of course you've pissed away your first full year of presidential eligibility."

"Oh, well then, what am I waiting for?" She replied, right before the prisoner turned the device back around and pressed the screen, ceasing the view into another world.

"By the gods." Ned whispered. "What kind of sorcery was that?"

Kyle gave him an uneasy look. "OK, I'm still playing along here, but even in your world, this…Worldos or whatever the hell you call your planet, there's still science, right? There's still techn…no, there's not, but there are devices that exist that you don't understand how they're made, but you know that sorcery wasn't involved in making them, right?" He noted Eddard give a smile and slight nod.

"Yes, but I've seen nothing remotely like that." He replied. "All the Meisters of the Citadel could toil for a hundred summers and come nowhere close to creating something like that."

"Well, yeah, but that's because your society is fucking backwards." Kyle smirked and cocked his head. "Seriously, you have a written history going back thousands of years, but you haven't advanced technologically in all that time? Don't get me wrong, in the real world, Earth, we as a species have been around for at least a couple hundred thousand years, and we only really started civilization like ten thousand years ago. But once we started flattening papyrus and writing shit down for posterity, we kinda steamrolled. Based on the Thrones show, you guys are like where we were in, hell, I don't know, like seven hundred years ago or so. But you've been living the same way for thousands of years, we moved through that era in like a dozen decades, at most. Hell, don't you all experiment with new weapon ideas? Nothing promotes advancement like an arms race. But no, same ol' swords, same ol' axes, wooden shields, bows and arrows, cripes, you guys need to grow the fuck up. I mean, easy, common sense shit has evaded you for millennia. You don't even have a printing press, and that's an obvious one! Seriously, simple, metal letters, lots of em', punctuation symbols, numbers, all that can be attached and detached to a page sized plate that you dip in ink, press to paper over and over again, and boom, you've run off a thousand copies of a book in the time it'd take a schmuck with a feather and ink to write one or two. Easy and obvious, and this hasn't occurred to any of you! Or harnessing steam power, cheese and rice, that's another no-brainer. How can you look at a bubbling kettle and not realize that steam can be used to push shit? After thousands of years of having a written history, nobody's considered things like this?" He shook his head and laughed. "I'm smarter than the average guy, but I ain't no genius, and I could pump out hundreds of civilization altering ideas in weeks. Shit your Meisters should have thought of long ago, but because this is a fictional world, they didn't." He then groaned. "Or, maybe, at least according to my girlf…uhm, some chick I know, maybe your Meisters are keeping progress suppressed to maintain their power and authority. She said they probably arranged to have the dragons die off too. She's way too into your books, even looking up conspiracy shit about them online. Nerds reading too much into Rated R Harry Potter," he laughed sardonically, "and I've spent the last twelve hours trying to remember everything she's ever told me about it."

Ned stared at the man, anger in his gaze, but now with more than a little uncertainty. "You're saying that I, my entire world, is some…mummer's farce?"

Kyle stared nervously. "If I say yes, are you going to continue treating me like shit?"

Ned exhaled. "No. Tell me what you honestly believe, there will be no negative repercussions, but do so with respect."

Kyle nodded. "Fair enough. Yes, Game of Thrones was a book, the first book in a series. I think so far there have been five or six, not sure, but a network…" the prisoner looked up to the left as he considered something, "you know how you saw the moving pictures on my phone?" Ned nodded. "Well, with that technology these…organizations called networks can have plays…mummer's farces, recorded and televised…uh, sent out to millions of people to view…"

"Millions?" Ned gasped.

"Yeah, sometimes tens or even hundreds of millions." Kyle impossibly clarified. "The planet Earth has well over seven billion people and is well on its way to eight. Overpopulation is going to be our biggest problem in a century or two, may even lead directly or indirectly to our extinction. That technological advancement I told you about, it applies to medicine as much as anything, and our unwillingness to let the unfit die will wind up killing us all. But I'm digressing. So anyway, they took these books, and made a television show about it."

"So, this…Sean Bean," Ned muttered, looking down, "he's a mummer pretending to be me."

"Yep. Doesn't really look much like you, hell, based on some of his earlier movies he'd probably make a decent Jaime Lannister…"

"What!" Ned roared.

"He's blond!" Kyle clarified. "That's it, but for Game of Thrones his hair is darker. Not sure if they dyed it or if it just darkened as he got older, which I must say, he was older than you seem to be, though going by your sons, it seems everyone in the book is a lot younger than their show counterparts. But off point, just want to confirm that I'm not suggesting that you're like Jaime."

"You're familiar with Jaime Lannister?" Ned asked.

"Tall, blond, good looking, stabbed the Mad King," Kyle rattled off.

"Dishonorable disgrace of a knight!" Ned growled.

"Agreed, but, not because of that." Kyle stated. "Aerys, that was his name right? Like the Greek god of War?"

"Greek, what?" Ned asked.

"Never mind. Anyway, the Mad King ordered his, whatever, alchemists or something, to ignite piles of wild fire hidden below the city when Tywin Lannister attacked it." The prisoner explained. "Jaime killed the alchemist, but the King kept bellowing the order to blow up the city, so Jaime killed him to shut him up. And maybe being ordered to kill his dad may have played a part in the motivation. But killing Aerys saved pretty much everyone living in the city. So, at least in my opinion, letting him live to rant and rave and give orders would have been much more dishonorable. But hey, what the hell do I know, I'm just the guy from an advanced society?"

"Your tone is far too insolent." Ned grumbled. "I am the Lord of Winterfell."

"Yeah, that's another difference between our worlds." Kyle hesitantly explained. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, bestowed by our Creator to have life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, yada yada yada, and all that crap. The nation I'm from, there's no nobility. No royalty. We have rich and poor, but from a legal standpoint we all stand at the same level, at least on paper." The stranger shrugged. "So please understand that the idea of me needing to bow and kneel and pretend someone is my better because of who our parents were is very foreign to me. And that's not something I'm going to apologize for, because, sorry pal, we're in the right."

Ned looked at him, then back down, and then a look of resolution came over his face. "Enough of this. Your device is spectacular, no matter what it truly is, there's no question of that. Even that piece of parchment is unusual, with its glossy covering, and your suggestion of a…printing press, yes, even I must acknowledge that it seems both simple and brilliant, and something that should have been thought of long ago, but the idea that you are some sort of watcher of our world, a world that truly doesn't exist, is absurd." The Lord of Winterfell looked down, smiled and then looked back up. "Answer this, Kyle Renquist; is it commonplace for you to enter and exit these moving pictures at will?"

"Actually, this is a book," Kyle was genuinely at a loss for once, "and no, what's happening, if it's truly happening, is impossible. Frankly, I'm still of the opinion that this is one of those immersive adventure experiences taken too far."

"I can assure you that this is no adventure experience." Ned replied. "I am no mummer paid to trick you. And I have indulged your lies long enough." Ned reached forward and pulled the phone out of the prisoner's hand, then turned and walked out of the cell, closing and relocking the door. "I will need to think about what to do with you, but in the meantime, enjoy the unfettered use of your voice and right arm, but should you call out, or say anything regarding my family, I will kill you."

Kyle leaned back, but a look of realization came over his face. "Hold up a second. You trust your guards to have not interacted with me while you were gone, right?"

"I know that Jory fed you and allowed you to relieve yourself." Ned replied.

"And you trust him not to have said anything to me?" Kyle replied. "Not that it matters, as having been here with me, he'd have no idea of what happened on your way back from the beheading."

"What are you getting at?" Ned growled.

"O.K., so…"

"What do you mean by O.K.?" Ned barked.

"It's an expression where I'm from, an affirmation or something." Kyle replied. "Not important, what is important is that the kid you beheaded told you that he saw White Walkers."

"The man I beheaded said nothing!" Ned growled and started to walk away.

"Right, I'm thinking the show. It was the old man you beheaded. Gared!" Kyle called out, stopping Eddard in his tracks. "Old guy, like fifty, missing an ear." Ned turned around and returned to just outside the cell. "Don't know what he said to you though, I only finished the first chapter, but has to be him as he was the only one left alive. So I'm guessing you killed him, but trust me, he and his companions were attacked by White Walkers,"

"White Walkers?"

"Others, you call them the Others!" Kyle corrected. "Becca said the term is too vague for television audiences, so they call them White Walkers on the show. Anyway, he, a kid named Will, and some pompous highborn assbag named…something Royce,"

"Waymar Royce?" Ned gasped.

"Yeah, him!" Kyle confirmed getting excited. "So those three are attacked by Whi…Others, and Will and Royce get killed, in fact, zombie Royce is the one to kill Will, and the Others let Gared go or something, and if he was anything like Will in the show, he crossed the wall and kept going until he got caught. So you kill him, and on your way back you find a stag with its guts torn open and a broken antler." Kyle smiled as he saw Ned's mouth droop open. "At least I hope so, going off of details from the show at this point. So I'm guessing you follow a trail of blood, or some other form of tracking where you find a dead dire wolf with the broken antler stuck in it and five pups nursing on its corpse. You're going to kill them quickly to prevent suffering, but Jon suggests they be kept by the five Stark children, since there are five pups. As you're walking away, Jon notices something and finds a sixth pup, an Albino he has or will name Ghost."

"Stop." The stunned Ned leaned against the bars. "How do you know this?"

"I told you, it was in the show." Kyle replied.

"And your comment regarding my…son?" Ned whispered.

Kyle paused, but replied in a very low tone. "Some theory Becca used to go on about, something she said all the internet nerds seemed to agree had too much evidence not to be true, but there was always the chance it was a red herring."

"A red herring?" Ned asked. "Like the fish?"

"Never mind, just a weird term that I honestly don't know the origins of, but basically a misdirection." Kyle sputtered. "Not important. Anyway, she called it R plus L equals J, meaning Rhaegar plus Lyanna…"

"Enough." Ned growled, lost in his thoughts.

"Well, it was confirmed in the show a couple seasons ago…" Kyle seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, "man, I've been fucking Becca for a long time."

Ned, looking down into the floor, asked almost despondently. "In your…show, does Robert discover the truth regarding Jon?"

Kyle noted Ned's expression, humbled by the very genuine-seeming fear displayed by the man. "No. Nobody finds out. You die never having told Jon," he notes the look of surprise in Ned's eyes as the Lord of Winterfell raises his head to lock eyes at the statement, "and even after seven seasons, Jon still has no clue. Only your son Bran knows, and I guess Samwell Tarly too, but relax, he's Jon's most loyal and devoted friend. And according to…my friend, that Howland Reed guy who helped you kill that super-badass guarding your sister, he has to know too." For whatever reason, Kyle seemed to feel a genuine desire to comfort the man. "I give you my word, I will not tell anyone about your…nephew." Ned clenched his eyes tightly. "Not unless you want me to."

Ned peered at the prisoner with shock. "Why would I want that?"

"Well, I was always a little confused as to why you never told your wife." Kyle replied. "They didn't really cover it in the show, but I'm pretty sure she'd have kept your secret, and it'd have led to a much easier home life for everyone involved. My guess is that your sister swore you to tell no one, and you did just that. But you didn't tell me, so if I were to tell Catelyn, then your vow would remain intact."

"No!" Ned growled, but calmed. "I…I thank you for your offer, but I ask you to tell no one."

"Well, as long as you don't try to kill me, I guess we have a deal." Kyle replied. "And since I'm playing along, do you think I could," he looked down at his bound left arm.

"Yes, of course." Ned replied. "I will still need you to remain in a specified area, and to limit your contact with others, and what you say…yes, we cannot have you speaking with others."

"Fine, fine, I'll be happy…"

"Lord Stark!" Jory's voice called down.

"Aye?" Ned called back looking to the prisoner and placing a finger over his lips. "You may enter Jory."

A moment later the guard approached and leaned in toward Ned to whisper something. "My Lord," his quiet voice was only heard by Ned, "a Septon arrived minutes ago, one claiming to be looking for a man that he had been watching over, a madman that would be dressed in scant bits of unusual foreign garb and possibly talking about nonsense and in possession of some sorcerer's relics stolen from Asshai."

Septon Dontos

"Where is he from?"

The man in brown robes with a copy of the 'Seven Sided Star' clutched in his right hand turned toward the voice and looked down upon the little girl with dark hair peering up at him. The septon smiled. "To be honest, I don't know where he's originally from. I know he acquired certain magical objects in Asshai prior to arriving in Westeros."

"Where are you from?" The girl asked, an odd look on her long yet pretty face. "You don't talk like anyone I've ever heard before."

The prepared answer was about to be provided when footsteps could be heard approaching from within the darkened vault. "Arya," the voice preceded the man, "leave the septon be and get back to your studies."

The girl shot forward and leapt into her father's arms as he emerged with the guard behind him. The septon bowed his head as the man kissed the top of the girl's head and looked to him. "Lord Stark."

"Welcome Septon…"

"Dontos, Septon Dontos." The holy man replied. "My sincerest gratitude for your hospitality, as well as for the capture and safe keeping of my charge."

"Run along." Eddard Stark muttered to his daughter, giving her a light pat of encouragement. Once away he directed his attention to the guest. "About your charge, there is much I wish to know of him."

Fuck. Give him an understanding nod. "I have no doubt of that, Lord Stark. Any answers I can provide, I will."

Lord Stark nodded and smiled at the blond stranger before turning to his guard. "Jory, no one is to enter."

"As you say, my Lord." Jory replied as he took his position next to the doorway.

Lord Stark beckoned the stranger to follow him into the subterranean row of cells. Upon entering, Eddard Stark began speaking in a low tone, so as not to allow the guard behind them or the prisoner ahead of them to hear. "Your charge, he makes claims. Some of which are utter nonsense, but some are remarkably accurate, details that there's no reasonable way for him to know. And his accent, I've never heard the like. Apart from his accent, and the use of many words and expressions I am unfamiliar with, he speaks the Common Tongue quite proficiently."

O.K., here goes. "My Lord, I do not know where he originates from, only that he has gone through far eastern Essos, made off with many of their relics, and that he seems quite mad. Perhaps if I may speak with him alone, I may be able to discern some personal details regarding him."

Ned Stark delivered the man a look of skepticism. "How is it that he was in a near state of undress, including no protection for his feet, this far north, away from any seaports?" The bearded man crossed his arms. "For that matter, where did he make landfall on Westeros, and where is it that you are escorting him to?"

"We landed at White Harbor a fortnight ago, he eluded me and stole a horse. The garments he had on were acquired in Essos, as odd as they were, I saw no harm in letting him keep them." The Septon replied. "When he left he had more in the way of clothing, but like with his horse, he must have lost much of that clothing prior to you finding him. I was planning to take him to the Citadel in hopes that they would be able to treat his madness."

Ned sized him up for a moment before replying. "You may speak with him, but I will be present."

"My Lord, I assure you…"

"I insist." Ned cut him off. "The man has made many claims, some of which could be dangerous, and I must ensure the safety of my family, my people, and the realm."

Damn. "As you wish." The two men resumed their walk down the hall toward the cell at the end holding the prisoner.

The prisoner peered at them the entire way until they were standing outside his cell, and his eyes locked onto the septon and a wave of recognition washed over his face. "You!"

"Yes, my friend. It was foolish of you to steal that horse in White Harbor and flee from me." The septon shot back quickly and firmly. "I am only trying to get you home!" He turned and smiled at Lord Stark. "Your new home, at the Citadel."

"You know this man?" Ned asked the prisoner.

"Now it makes fucking sense!" The prisoner snarled, but then a look of realization came over him. He looked sheepishly at the septon. "I mean, I recognize you from TV. You're the head of that movie studio, Madigan or something, right? Makes sense that someone like you can pull something like this off, but why the hell are you doing this to me?"

The septon rolled his eyes, but at noting the gaze of the Lord of Winterfell, shook his head sadly. "So delusional." He then locked the prisoner with an angry glare and a growl. "Very delusional."

"Where were you born, Septon?" Ned asked suddenly.

Damn! "I was not expecting to discuss my upbringing my lord, but Tarth."

"Aye, I've never been there, but I once met Lord Selwyn." Ned replied. "I've heard it's beautiful."

"Yes, my lord, most beautiful." The septon replied.

"He was born and raised in Manhattan!" The prisoner belted out. "Moved to L.A. right after high school. Started a movie studio years ago, and whatever he thinks I may or may not have done to him to deserve his wrath amounts to a squirt of piss compared to the ocean of crimes he has committed here! And any accomplices of his that help me out of this will have no charges brought against them by a very grateful me!"

"He says his name is Septon Dontos." Ned stated to the prisoner.

"Ha." The prisoner replied. "His name is Daniel Madigan. He makes those forms of entertainment I mentioned earlier, though none of them that deal with your world. Of course, if you continue to play along with this elaborate revenge of his, your world will be a six by six cell for the next couple of decades."

"It's an unfortunate case." The increasingly nervous septon stated. "He seems to have one foot planted in our reality, and one foot planted in his delusions. Even he seems to be alternating in what he believes."

"Fuck you Madigan!" The prisoner snarled. "Fine, so be it, cards on the gawddamned table! Yes, I broke into your office, and yes, your safe as well. Took just shy of eight grand, a couple of Krugerrands, and that piece of Chocolate Factory memorabilia! But kidnapping? Assault? Torture? Theft? Hell, the two thefts can be considered a wash, but all the other shit, you're going to be in jail for a long time. And unlike me, you have a lot to lose in the civil proceedings that follow! So prep your corn chute for some jail house romance, and prep your check writing hand for a little recompense!"

The septon merely shook his head. "You see my lord, while he acknowledges he's a thief, the rest of what he has to say is nonsensical rambling."

The prisoner glared at the septon for nearly a minute before exhaling loudly and looking to his captor. "He may be right about one thing, Lord Stark. I am kind of waffling between believing this to be some crazy set up put on by this man, and believing that this may in fact be real. In all likelihood, it's all in my head, but whatever the case, it may actually be my best course of action to play along. So, my lord, please ask your house priestess, the one training your daughters to sew and shit, ask her to quiz this man on the religion he claims to be a priest of."

Ned stared at the prisoner for a moment. "You're suggesting I have Septa Mordaine ask this man pointed questions regarding the Faith of the Seven?"

"Yup!" The prisoner said, giving the septon a grin. "You're fucked now, Madigan!"

The now noticeably nervous septon shrugged to Lord Stark. "I assure you my lord, this is not necessary, and it is imperative that this man get to the Citadel as soon as is possible."

"Hey Stark," the prisoner called out, "you know those Game of Thrones nerd theories my girlfriend has been muttering to me over the last couple years? I'll be happy to tell you all I remember of them, and all you have to do is confine this moron to one of your cells and let me out."

"Why would I be interested in these theories, even if they were true?" Ned replied.

"Well, let's toss one out there and see if it piques your interest." The prisoner shot back. "Rumor has it that a young Littlefinger, one madly in love with a young Catelyn Tully, was unable to accept her marriage to your brother Brandon."

"I'm well aware of the duel." Ned grumbled.

"After that." The prisoner clarified.

"I believe you've caused enough mischief with your nonsense!" The septon snarled.

"Fuck you Madigan!" The prisoner snapped. "This is just a rumor, speculation done by people way too into a story, just looking to talk about it in the years separating the publishing of the next volumes, but the theory is that after the duel, your sister runs off with Prince Rhaegar,"

"Silence!" Ned roared.

"He knows who Snow's parents are, trust me!" The prisoner snapped back. "So she runs off willingly, Littlefinger catches wind, and sends an anonymous note to your brother claiming she was kidnapped. Now I didn't know the guy, and I certainly mean no offense, but I guess your brother was a bit of a hot-head, and Littlefinger knew that the idea of baby-sister being kidnapped would send him into a rage and get himself killed. Something Littlefinger would consider justice as he nursed his torso wound."

Ned stared at him for many long seconds before turning to the septon and drawing his dirk. "I am not sure I believe anything this man has to say, but even if he's wrong, you have heard things that cannot be heard by others. Please get into the next cell while I determine what to do next."

The septon glared at the prisoner…the other prisoner, and then looked to Ned, knife in hand. He then sighed. "What the hell, it worked with Slater." He then looked into Ned Stark's eyes. "This man is a criminal, and a moron, but what he has told you, his delusions, they're all true. My name is Dan Madigan, I am from an entirely different world, but unlike this man, I respect your world, and wish to return it to its proper course."

"Fuck you Madigan!" The prisoner snarled.

"Proper course?" Stark asked, motioning with the dirk for the newcomer to get into the next cell over.

"Found a copy of the book this guy got sucked into, the book we're all in right now." He looked over at the other prisoner. "Let me guess, you used the ticket as a bookmark, didn't you?"

"You mean the ticket was the portal in?" The man questioned. "I thought it was a crazy strong acid tab. Tossed it away in the grass yesterday. Good luck finding it now, asshole."

"I'm guessing Lord Stark picked it up and put it in his pocket after bitchslapping you with Ice." Madigan smiled back, then looked at Stark. "Anyway, this moron's reference to Jon being royalty didn't go unnoticed by someone in your party. Word got back, or rather will get back to King's Landing, and someone will be able to put two and two together to get four. Robert Baratheon is mobilizing a force and advancing up the King's Road, or at least he will be in a chapter or two. At this point the bird is still in the air, but I can only jump into scenes that are written and in the book."

"This was in the book?" Kyle asked skeptically.

"This particular scene? No, at least not when I skimmed through it before jumping in." Dan replied. "But Lord Stark's return to Winterfell was in there, which is where I came in." The statement was punctuated by the sound of Ned closing the metal cell door. "Basically, it jumps from Winterfell to Robert marching north, general comments about going to deal with the possibility of Jon being Rhaegar's kid. Skimming to later chapters and it appears Baelish was the one who proposed the possibility. You know, Ned Stark went south to rescue his sister, came back north with an infant."

Stark glared at Renquist with absolute hatred. "You assured me Robert would never find out!"

"He doesn't find out!" Kyle shouted. "This guy is a liar!"

"Until your arrival, Robert would not have found out." Dan explained. "But calling Jon your grace prompted one of Littlefinger's spies to send a message to Kings Landing, and the course of the book has changed."

"This isn't a Choose Your Own Adventure book!" Kyle snarled.

"This particular book has changed because of your influence, and likely now again due to mine." Dan grumbled. "This isn't happening to every copy of Game of Thrones, but the one we fell into, which is now in a safe room only I know the code to get out of, is altered and will continue to be altered as we make changes."

"Wait, why would you lock the book in a safe room?" Kyle grumbled.

"Had an issue the first time I used the ticket." He looked at a thoroughly confused Ned before turning back to Kyle, a look of guilt and sadness on his face. "Went into a reel of Slater 4, lost the ticket, Benedict got it, he came into the real world and…well, there was a mechanic I'm pretty sure he killed, and an agent I know he did. Guy who represented Tom Noonan? Actor, director,…"

"Fuck yeah I know Tom Noonan! Loved Manhunter!" Kyle replied enthusiastically. "And I remember that murder. Dude found sliced open in an office, murderer found electrocuted on the roof, pretty much a clone of Noonan in full Ripper attire on the roof, pretty much identical to Noonan except for jacked up teeth…" a look of realization came over him, "at the Slater 4 premier. Fucking Benedict?"

"Yeah. Benedict pulled the Ripper out of the earlier Slater." Dan replied. "Not sure if you remember, but there were chunks of another guy all over the roof. That was Benedict."

"Silence!" Ned snarled. "Is there a way to remedy this issue with King Robert?"

"Why didn't you go to the scene where I run into these guys and tranq me?" Kyle growled.

"Wasn't in the book." Madigan replied. "The pages were weird, the ink was fluid movement, periodically changing, you probably fell into a scene that was there originally, but the book changed itself and wiped it out. Basically, it went from the Others attacking the three Nights Watchmen, to a brief scene at Winterfell, then the execution, the scene with the wolves, then back to Winterfell. Of the options provided, I felt the Winterfell return to be the best point of entry. No way to remove you entirely, but perhaps I can mitigate the damage you've done."

"The damage I've done!" Kyle growled.

"Yeah, asshole, the damage you've done!" Madigan snarled back. "I'm not the bad guy here!"

"Tell that to the widow of Noonan's Agent, anus!" Kyle snapped. "Or the family of the nameless mechanic! Those ticket stubs should have been burned! Or at least turned over to NASA or something! Not kept in a safe with cash and Krugerrands!"

"I kept the pieces separate to undo any damage a stolen half could do." Madigan replied defensively.

"Oh, great fucking idea!" Kyle growled. "Then by all means, undo this, asshole!"

"Yes!" Lord Stark snarled. "Undo this!"

Robert

How in the seven hells could such treachery have occurred? Ned was a brother, closer than a brother, certainly closer than those fools Stannis and Renly. Hells, he would expect betrayal from one of those two long before Ned! Never from Ned, and yet, according to that weaselly shit Little Finger, he was possibly raising a dragonspawn as his son! Likely putting thoughts of his stolen birthright into his head. In time raising an army to plant the little bastard on the Iron Throne, and as a reward to his surrogate father, blood uncle, he would grant the North its independence, and Ned would be the first King in the North in centuries!

All provided Baelish's assumptions were true. It was a stretch, one stemming from an alleged statement made by an alleged naked madman found in the middle of the forest. A ridiculous, toss-away utterance made to a bastard boy, but one that brought up a situation that was not impossible. It wasn't even implausible. Rhaegar had kidnapped Lyanna, he undoubtedly raped her, a thought that brought bile to the king's throat, and the monster had her long enough to put a child in her and bring her to term. Ned headed north with a babe, one that looked unquestionably Stark, but those traits could have easily come from Lyanna. Did not Robert's own children favor their mother to the point of showing none of their father? So, while unlikely, there was a chance that the bastard of Winterfell was really the bastard of the Red Keep...no, would need a better title for Rhaegar's bastard as Robert had seen to it to create many bastards of the Red Keep in the decade and a half since he had claimed the throne. Bastard of Dragonstone, that's what Robert would call him before killing him…provided this was all true.

"Your Grace?"

Ugh, not now. Robert had no desire to deal with the simpering eunuch right now, especially as he was still perturbed that if this suspicion was correct, it was the Master of Coin, not the Master of Whispers to have brought it to his attention. "What is it Varys?" The king growled as he marched toward his horse across the courtyard surrounded by his Kings Guard, thousands of soldiers waiting for him in the fields outside of Kings Landing to commence the march north.

"Your Grace, there is little likelihood that the conclusion drawn from the information provided by Lord Baelish's spy is correct. A Wintertown whore forwarding details of comments from a Winterfell guard client of hers…it's just so unreliable." The heavyset bald man stated. "And even if there's weight to be put on it, I just feel that there is a better way of discerning the veracity of this claim than by marching an army across the continent to confront your dearest friend regarding it."

"If there's no truth to it, then I'll apologize to Ned and explain that I couldn't take any chances. I'll even give he and the boy a gift of great expense for their troubles." Robert grumbled back. "He'll still be pissed, but he'll get over it. But if the claim is true, then we'll all be happy to have this army at our backs when Ned's treachery is revealed."

Varys nodded and thought silently for a moment before replying. "And how do you propose to determine what the truth of the matter is?"

Robert belted out a chuckle. "Ned is a terrible liar; he's never had the stomach for it. He very well could have lied to me about the boy all those years ago, but I would not have been looking for it then. Hell, a soldier away from home shooting his seed into some woman that wasn't his wife, that's to be expected. And Ned Stark owning that mistake and taking the boy to raise him, that's something Ned would do. Frankly, it made me feel better about myself to have Ned father a bastard. So, with all that in mind, I didn't give Ned's claim to have fathered the boy a second thought. He could have been blinking, his pupils could have been wide as saucers, he could have been stuttering the words horribly, and it would not have occurred to me at the time that he could be lying about where the boy came from. But now when I stand before him and demand the details of the child's origins, I'll be studying him, I'll be scrutinizing every detail of his face, and I'll know what the truth is!"

"I just pray that the bloodshed is non-existent…or at worst, remains minimal." Varys replied.

"Bah, you fear a war." Robert snarled as he took a pull from his wineskin before finally reaching his mount. "That won't happen. There's no way for Ned to know we're coming until it's too late for him to prepare in any significant way."

"I hope you're right, your Grace."

Howland Reed

He looked down at his son, small and lean, even by Crannogman standards, and stifled a cry at seeing the boy shudder through another spasm. His visions had always taken their toll on him, but over the last several days the boy had been thrashing around in his near-unconscious state, his eyes rolled back yet moving frantically as images he could not make sense of ran through his head.

"Father, what is happening to him?" His strong, beautiful daughter Meera asked as she stood next to him, a terrified look covering her face.

"I…I do not know." Howland answered, utterly bewildered by what was happening with his son. He sensed another presence entering the room, and turned to see his wife, Jyana, standing in the doorway of the dimly lit room, the same fearful look they all shared as she gazed down upon their son, and a scroll in her hand. "He'll be fine, my love. We'll find a way to heal him of this, whatever it may be."

The fretful mother nodded though it was clear on her face that she did not have confidence in her husband's words. She then turned to Howland and held out the scroll to him. "A rider from Winterfell was found by some Crannogmen on a hunt, he was trying to find us to deliver this, Husband."

Howland took the scroll, broke the grey wax dire wolf seal, and unrolled it. As he read the message his eyes stretched wide in amazement, and he read it again several more times. "What is it father?" Meera asked as she noted her father's surprise.

"Something Ned and I have feared for almost fifteen years."


End file.
